


The Man We Both Love

by A_Study_In_Johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Fix It, Friends to Lovers, James Sholto Mention, Lesbian Irene, Love Confessions, M/M, Past James Sholto/John Watson, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Study_In_Johnlock/pseuds/A_Study_In_Johnlock
Summary: After John and Sherlock watch Mary's last video to them, John becomes caught off guard when Mary refers to him to Sherlock as the man they both love, leaving John with one question.





	The Man We Both Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princesscupcake1990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesscupcake1990/gifts).



> I got a very lovely, very long prompt and I did my absolute best to give what was asked of me. Let me know if you enjoy.

 

John sat stock still, his widened midnight blue eyes brimming with a sea of unshed tears.  _ The man we both love,  _ Mary said in her video, towards Sherlock. Sherlock, who was sitting next to John with his hands braced on his knees as frozen as the army doctor next to him.

The silence was deafening. Sherlock thought maybe John could hear his heart pounding between his ribs. He almost felt sick to him stomach, hoping that John wouldn’t address the obvious. But then again, Sherlock was a logical man and he knew that John was smarter than he looked. With a shaky exhale, Sherlock realised he was screwed: the truth was out. He felt his hand flex against his knee before John slowly turned to look at him.

“Sh...Sherlock.” But he said it as a statement. 

“I–”

“What did she mean?”

“John–”

“What did she mean by ‘ _ the man we both love _ ’, Sherlock?”

Before Sherlock could think to get an answer out, his phone made an awfully familiar text alert that was beginning to make Sherlock lose his mind. A woman’s moan.

_ Irene. _

Sherlock attempted to ignore it, but he could see the John’s jaw had set as if he were clenching his teeth against the onslaught of words he wanted to let out. 

The woman moaned again.

Sherlock’s eyes slid closed, but he didn’t miss how John’s arms folded against his chest. “Go on, then,” John said flatly, feigning interest. “Answer her.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to say that he had no interest in texting Irene back without John calling him a liar.

With unsure hands that surprised himself, Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen to read Irene’s texts.

I:  _ Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. _

I:  _ Confess your love to Doctor Watson yet? You know it’s imperial that I check up every once in a while. _

 

Sherlock didn’t bother sending a text back. He shut the screen off and placed his phone onto the sofa cushion behind him.

“It was nothing of importance,” Sherlock said. “Back to Mary’s–” Another woman’s moan interjected Sherlock’s speech. “Oh for  _ God’s  _ sakes!” he grabbed his phone, pushing it in between the cushions to muffle any further interrupting sounds.

John was looking at him with a blank expression. “Nothing of importance? Three texts in under two minutes. That’s new.” John’s tone went from being flat to bitter and it made Sherlock’s heart clench. He didn’t want to cause John any more pain. “Sherlock, I told you. The moment won’t always be there forever. Reply back to her.”

“ _ Why? _ ” Sherlock almost asked petulantly.

“ _ Because  _ I can tell you like her! I could tell when you two were first in a room with each other!”

“It’s  _ impossible  _ for me to like her, John!” Sherlock noticed he was growing louder with each passing word.

“ _ Why?  _ Why do you have to block people out?!”

“I am not blocking  _ anyone  _ out!”

“Then, why is it impossible for you to like her, Sherlock?!”

“Because I’m gay!” Sherlock shouted, making the sound of his baritone voice reverberate off of the walls. Silence filled the room. Sherlock felt his shoulders deflate and shook his armour away. “ _ Yes,  _ John. I’m gay.”

Then, John’s own facade fell away, his eyebrows furrowing, blue eyes widening in realisation. “Oh, God, Sherlock–why didn’t you tell me? After I…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “After I kept spewing all of that bullshit about not being gay.”

“It wasn’t important. I understand; you aren’t gay.”

“I mean, I am, I was just saying it for your benefit; I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable because I know you don’t do relationships.” John said too calmly.

Sherlock considered what John said for a long moment, attempting to process the information John had just given him. “Are you. Telling me…” Sherlock trailed off as the corner of John’s mouth ticked up in a devilish smirk, causing Sherlock to notice the salt and pepper five o’clock shadow the man was wearing that made Sherlock’s stomach flutter. John revelled in any and every opportunity to render the detective speechless: it was so very rare. “You’re…” John slowly nodded, waiting. “Gay?”

“Well, bisexual. But, yes. Who do you think Sholto was to me? I believe he was the first man I was ever in love with. I thought– _ hoped _ –maybe you knew.” John’s voice grew soft, almost wistful. “It didn’t work out. After Sholto was shunned, he shut me out–shut everyone out. I wanted to stay by his side, but I could only do so much.” 

Sherlock just stared at John through widened eyes. His shock refused to be deterred. 

“So…” John began, his teeth lightly scraping along his bottom lip as he was wont to do when he as nervous or unsure. “No Irene?”

“Never Irene.” Sherlock continued to be still, completely off the subject of Irene, already going over every single moment–down to the first flicker of eye contact–he and John spent together, wondering if he’d just glossed over John’s being bisexual or if it was something else he’d chosen to ignore.

“You guys never…?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock scoffed, his attention back in the room, back on John.

“I was jealous of her.” John admitted in a murmur, almost embarrassed with himself.

“I should have known,” Sherlock said quietly, his lips pressing together. “Counting the text alerts, your being upset over me deducing her measurements–to save  _ your  _ life by the way–it all makes sense now.” Sherlock leaned his head against the back cushions of the couch, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling, slightly glazing over as they were wont to do as,slowly, he began to sift through anything and every piece of evidence that showed he’d known about John the entire time. It was  _ everything,  _ Sherlock soon realised. The lingering looks. The things friends–let alone  _ best  _ friends–would never say to each other– ‘ _ you...ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.’ _ ‘ _ People do little else.’  _ “There’s always something,” Sherlock smiled wistfully. “Harry’s short for Harriet. Not gay, but bi,” he turned his verdigris eyes to John who was watching him with a small smile. “You are a wonder, John Watson.”

“Well, as long as I can manage to bring some sort of shock to your life, that’s good.” John murmured with a fond smile. Sherlock couldn’t help but return it. Then, they fell into an amicable–albeit, nervous–silence. Sherlock noted that John was fiddling with his own hands in his lap. 

“She said ‘ _ the man we both love’ _ ,” Sherlock spoke quietly between them.

John nodded slowly. “Sherlock…” The detective noticed his doctor was moving closer. “Please tell me that it’s not only me.”

Sherlock sat up to face John. “Of course it’s not only you. John Watson, I’ve been falling in love with you ever since you shot that cabbie to save me.  That night, I knew that I could trust you with my life. And if I could go back–to Angelo’s–I would tell you that I wasn’t unattached. I would leave out being  _ flattered _ , and I would have told you I was interested. But you...terrified me. You were an anomaly in my life so suddenly–something I’d allowed in and  _ wanted.  _ I assumed you’d leave soon after our moving in, but you stayed and no one has ever done that before. Everything in my life was so controlled until you. I was terrified you’d come in and change everything, so I shut you out that first night,” Sherlock’s head hung low, his shoulders deflated, his eyes sad. “No, John. It’s not only you.”

“I was fighting myself...constantly,” John began, wanting them both to be out in the open. “When I first met you, I thought you were mad, but I liked it. You were different, and not for the sake of other people. Of course, I was absolutely infatuated with you, but after you told me you were married to your work, I figured it’d be best if I started dating women casually. But, then, you were always  _ there  _ and, then, the women were gone. It got to the point where I couldn’t tell one from the other, then it grew to the point where I just... _ stopped.  _ I stopped caring. I wanted a life with you more than anything in any way I could have you. And then…” John’s next words got caught in his throat.

Sherlock looked at him for a long time and decided to speak it out into the room. “And then, I died.”

John nodded, releasing a shaky breath. “And then, you died. It ripped me apart from the inside out in ways that I couldn’t imagine. When you came back, I fought with myself to hold onto Mary because I felt like I couldn’t trust you to stay, that I couldn’t tie my happiness to you. And you were amazing through it all, Sherlock, you really were,” John’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “The wedding, the best man speech, all of it. I should have seen the signs but I see them now. They’re undeniable now. At the wedding, you equated Mary’s love for me with yours and I... _ should have known. _ Then, she shot you. And I lost you again. I was so angry with you–both of you–for that  _ surgery  _ bullshit. Because you flatlined. I  _ know  _ you flatlined because I saw it. And I had to pretend that I still  _ loved  _ her after that when...had she not been pregnant with Rosie...Sherlock, I don’t know what I would have done.”

But John didn’t have to say it for Sherlock to know. John was as a dangerous man as he was protective, that much was obvious. 

John continued, letting his tears fall. “Every time you needed me...I failed you. With Magnussen. I attributed you shooting him to it just being one of your sociopathic tendencies when you did it to protect Mary and–as a result–me. And when Culverton came along, I didn’t believe you. I...I  _ beat  _ you.” John’s voice broke. “How can you…how can  _ we... _ ?” but he didn’t finish his either of his questions, his widened eyes meeting Sherlock’s for an answer.

Sherlock reached over to take John’s hands into his, revelling in the fact that they could do this now. That they could comfort each other. “I think...it’s time we stop hurting each other, John.”

Without saying a word, John nodded his head vigorously.

“I think you and I have had more than enough of our share of bruises, physically and emotionally. And now, it’s time to be honest and open. No more lies.”

“No more lies,” John whispered in agreement.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “I love you. Everything I do, I do for you and I will continue to do for you until my last breath. I never told you, but when I left for two years, you needed to be there to see me fall. Moriarty’s men had three snipers on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade if I didn’t jump.”

“Jesus!” John gaped at Sherlock.

“All I ever wanted to do was protect you. But the only person Moriarty failed to put a sniper on was the only person who could help me: Molly. It wasn’t...favouritism; it was necessary.”

John nodded,“I love you, too. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’ve saved my life on several occasions–from myself and others. I wasn’t happy in my marriage. I wasn’t happy until you were pulling me back in for cases. I just wanted  _ you. _ ” his hands reached out for Sherlock–which those long, pale violinist fingers eventually wrapped their almost clammy hands around–John’s skin still somehow tanner than his. He pulled the man up and towards him, his gaze never failing as lust blown pupils stared back into his, wide-eyed, unsure of his next move, heart  _ pounding.  _

John was taking his pulse. Sherlock’s cock throbbed; he easily thought of the same thing he’d done to Irene to get a one up on her, comparing her pulse to the rate of Mrs. Hudson’s the same day she’d been…

Sherlock pulled himself back into the present, letting himself focus on John rather than his string of thought without gritting his teeth at the memory;  _ this  _ was a completely different situation. No one ups. No Americans. 

For once, it was just the two of them–undisturbed–taking in the other–those swift verdigris eyes meeting midnight blue, losing themselves all too quickly. Sherlock couldn’t help himself, capturing the man’s lips faster than they could take their next breath, yet John’s hands rose up to grip Sherlock’s face like he was simultaneously something to protect, yet something to possess. A jolt ran up Sherlock’s spine, erasing the space between them. Their lips dragged against each other, John’s stubble scraping his skin making him feel his cock leak precum. John’s hold didn’t help either– _ that  _ almost had Sherlock grinding on John’s thigh he’d so kindly pressed between his legs when Sherlock had gotten closer, the man’s thinner body easily fitting his own thicker frame, making it almost seem like Sherlock could have been riding him. 

Now, John had his left hand wrapped in the lower crown of his head, just above his ear; his right hand gently cupped against Sherlock’s cheek as his thumb brushed against his cheekbone in slow, calm, that gave way to a man who  _ knew  _ he was in absolute control. It was like a promise and a threat all wrapped in one.

_ John Watson. _

As if somehow just  _ knowing   _ John pulled back from their kiss, Sherlock’s head in his hands as if he were the entire world, letting his lips and his stubble brush those pouty, pink lips–swollen from their kissing–and his skin which was stubble burn red. John took it into consideration and swallowed away the image of the same colour between Sherlock’s milky thighs. His cock was hard; Sherlock’s cock was hard. Only one simple thing to do:

Between them, barely inches apart, John murmured, “Do you want me to suck your cock until you come?”

Sherlock’s hips jolted and a keening mewel fell from his lips before vehemently shaking his head, yet falling to his knees. 

John’s heart lurched at the sight, and so did his cock. His thumb traced Sherlock’s cheekbone, sweetly, as a slow, warm smile spread onto his face as Sherlock’s eyes raced between Johns, taking in as much data as possible, eyes almost in a dream-like state–it was very humbling. Here was a man–John’s best friend–who’d given his all for him, even himself, for John. He was still trying to understand the depths when Sherlock had come back; now he understood entirely. His left hand brushed through Sherlock’s curls and then let both of his hands come forward to cup the man’s jaw, holding him there, holding the eye contact. 

John wanted to take care of Sherlock in every way the man needed and had ever wanted because he saw the way Sherlock had moulded himself over these past few months to do the same, to love John from afar. But, this was different. There were no boundaries. 

So, when John’s thumbs brushed down the column of Sherlock’s throat and back up again, watching the way the man’s eyelids fluttered in response, he smiled warmly at the moan Sherlock produced. The man who had been touch deprived for  _ years.  _

“Come on, beautiful,” he murmured gruffly, the rasp already taking over. “Wrap those lips around my cock the way you’ve always wanted.”

_ That  _ seemed to lurch Sherlock into action. He pulled back from John’s hold and those quick hands were on his trousers, unbutton, unzipping, pulling down–running his hand over the large bulge through his briefs. His eyes met John’s and they were wide, the pupil almost having taken over the iris as he licked his lips, pulling the briefs down, gently dragging his blunt nails down the sides of John’s thigh, making his hips buck. He watched Sherlock’s eyes take him in–immediately measured the length and the  _ width  _ (he saw the flicker of Sherlock’s eyebrow arch–the one when he notices something  _ very  _ interesting and very beneficial). 

Sherlock shifted forward, dipping down to take the head of John’s leaking cockhead into his mouth, sucking the spongy head slowly, letting his saliva flow to the front of his mouth, wetting his lips, and sucking John in further.

“ _ Oh,  _ fuck.” John groaned roughly, threading his fingers through those raven curls as Sherlock continuously bobbed back down with the more he could take, using his hands to stroke at the base, testing himself and his gag reflex–going all in– “ _ God _ ,” John gasped when Sherlock reached his base. “Holy. Mother of–” Sherlock hummed around him, his throat clenching around his cockhead as he tried his best to breathe through his nose, breathe more of John in. “Fuck, you’re perfect, love. You’re absolutely breathtaking–look at you,” John practically slurred as his thumb ran along the curve of Sherlock’s bottom lip, watched raptly the way those lips spread to take the girth of his cock before, suddenly, they were sliding up and down his cock. 

John gritted out a moan as Sherlock sucked his cock in ways John thought he’d only ever see in his dreams. His head was bobbing back down as his hands kept pumping what he couldn’t fit, easily pushing John to the edge. 

“Enough, love––” Sherlock pulled up quickly with a cough, a long line of spit following him as John’s cock bobbed, wet, swollen, and thick which still had Sherlock licking his lips. “Come on–get in that bedroom and strip for me.” he rasped. Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice. As he began to walk, he began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing flushed skin as John followed, rapt, watching as more skin was revealed to him. 

Sherlock had always been thin, yet John realised then how easily he could overpower the man with his thicker frame. He wondered if Sherlock’s cock followed suit. Once his pants were ridden of, John took in the note that, yes, Sherlock’s cock did follow suit, yet, when it was hard, it was very red–much like the flush on his cheeks, neck, and chest. 

John licked his lips, feeling almost predatory as Sherlock gazed back like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Grab the lube for me, please?”

Sherlock nodded and scrambled for it before finding it in his bedside table, laying it on the bed. John slowly undressed himself, watching the way Sherlock’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, looking his form over, as John recalled he’d just had his cock down that very same throat. 

“On my knees?” Sherlock inquired, moving towards the bed.

“Back.” 

Sherlock almost frowned, but he quickly schooled it. 

“Uncomfortable?” John probed, head tilting as Sherlock laid on his back.

“For a moment. I’ve never...:”

_ That. That  _ did something to John. This smaller man who only ever needed someone who was willing to take care of him–was offering himself right up to John. He climbed into bed, between those pale legs and leaned down to press his lips to Sherlock’s. 

“I have you, Sherlock.” John murmured, trailing his lips down the man’s jaw, a possessive feeling swirling through him as Sherlock threw his head back with a moan, thin legs wrapped around him, as John sucked a mark just below his jaw. He released a keening moan and, if John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock, he would feel the precum leaking out.

But, he’d just have to find it as he continued his trek down, his tongue playing with Sherlock’s right nipple, his thumb brushing over the left in a light flick that had Sherlock shaking. 

God, he was delicious. 

For experiment’s sake, John sucked and let his tongue flick repeatedly over the bed until Sherlock’s hips were bolting and John found that Sherlock could really make a mess of himself. Yet, he still hadn’t come. 

“Good boy,” he breathed, kissing down Sherlock’s sternum, down the line of his stomach, hands running over his hips and curling under his thighs as John descended until he was at eye level with Sherlock’s cock. The lube was by his foot; he grabbed the tube, flicking it open. Sherlock was watching him, in a dreamy awe that had John reeling. There was so much love in it that he wanted to cry. It was tangible. It was real. It had taken too long.

“I love you,” Sherlock breathed it.

John kissed him deftly. “Fuck–” he gasped between kissed. “I love you, too– _ mine _ , Sherlock–please be mine.”

“Always. And forever. Only yours. Only ever yours.”

Possession twisted in John’s gut, being quite aware that Sherlock was not an object, but still his to love so long as Sherlock wanted him. They belonged to each other, they always had. 

John pulled back, snatching up a pillow with him and placed it under Sherlock’s helpful risen hips before settling back down where he’d been. He wet his first two fingers with lube and leaned forward to tongue one of Sherlock’s bollocks, eliciting a broken whimper before John ran his tongue down the length of Sherlock’s cock where it was resting against his stomach in a pool of precum which licked up before taking Sherlock’s cockhead into his mouth,  _ sucking _ , as his index finger gently pushed in without any resistance, earning a high, keening moan as John began to thrust his finger in at a set pace that had Sherlock’s hips undulating, letting John easily add a second after a couple minutes of being fucked on one. 

John bobbed his head down further, tongue swirling around the head every time he pulled up, eyes only watching Sherlock’s responses who watched his movements right back. He worked the man up to three and met his resistance when he tried to scissor his fingers, causing Sherlock’s thighs to tremble. 

“Painful?”

“Yes, but…” he looked away, almost like he was ashamed.

“But...it felt good.” John noted gently, satisfied when Sherlock’s eyes immediately snapped back to his. “It’s okay. I told you: I have you. We’ll get you up to four,” John’s hands hadn’t moved, but they’d stopped, so he started by gently blooming his fingers out to stretch Sherlock’s little hole. The one he was supposed to squeeze his cock into. He was going to make sure Sherlock was prepped. They worked on three fingers for a while until Sherlock was slamming back on his fingers, cock leaking. John wet his fourth finger and, very gently, pushed in and found little resistance, though there was still some. Sherlock still whimpered and pushed his hips down for more, like he couldn’t get enough. 

He fucked Sherlock thoroughly on those four fingers until he decided the man was loose enough. He wrapped his hand around his cock, coating himself with what was left on his hand and adding a little more for safety’s sake. 

Sherlock was gazing up at him as John settled between his legs, pushing so that Sherlock’s legs were bracketed around him, pressing his cockhead into Sherlock’s rim, eliciting a keening mewel as it popped through, his eyes widening as his gaze, as well as his body and mind, took John in, enveloping him–inch by inch until John is buried in the skinner man’s body, stretching his hole obscenely, much like he did his mouth. John’s cock twitched, heavily at the thought, making Sherlock groan at the feeling. John clenched his jaw against the need to pound away, letting Sherlock adjust.

“Please, John,” was all Sherlock whispered before he felt that slow burn of John’s cock pulling out of him almost all the way before those lips touched his, feeling the man all around him, inside him, on his  _ tongue _ –their tastes, intermingled–their gazes never faltering before John  _ slams  _ back into the thinner man’s body, Sherlock keening as John set a brutal pace that he didn’t let up. It’s as if his hips were trying to climb into Sherlock, trying to force them to become one. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, not with the beautiful sounds Sherlock was making–his gasps, his whimpers, his pleads, resonating off of the walls. 

Sherlock was sure he was going to explode, his prostate being hit upon each thrust, ratcheting him higher to the point where he isn’t aware of his actions–his hand went  to his weeping cock, but he was quickly intersected, John’s hands snatching his and placing them above his head. John leaned down until their noses were nearly touching as he growled, “My cock alone. You come on my cock alone.” pushing deeper into Sherlock, rolling his hips, making Sherlock’s back arch as a tortured whine ripped from his throat, John’s thrusts never faltering against his prostate as his cock, twitching almost violently, began to spurt copious amounts of come as Sherlock’s orgasm spread like liquid fire through his body, his stomach clenching, his prostate practically being milked as John ground into it, an agonised gasp falling from Sherlock’s lips.

“Feel me.  _ Feel  _ us,” he growled, pushing deeper and  _ slower  _ into Sherlock’s body before picking up the pace again, thrusting deeply.

“Oh, fuck,” Sherlock gasped in shock, practically hyperventilating, sure that John Watson was going to be the death of him, that he could make him go mad as John’s cock ruthlessly hit his prostate, his cock and his  _ body  _ giving a violent tremor before he came between the two of them, John fucking him even harder, groaning as he fills Sherlock’s hole, feeling it leak out between them until they were mindlessly grinding against each other, Sherlock trembling from the aftermath and strength of his orgasm. John still had his hands held above his head. He gazed at the man above him in an entirely new light, already craving the next hard fucking he was going to receive, feeling his cock twitch feebly, John’s hips grinding in response. 

Sherlock’s head fell back, releasing another moan. “You’re going to kill me.” he whimpers. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're still on tumblr, and if you feel like it: follow me at http://consulting-writer.tumblr.com/
> 
> If not, leave a comment–I love all feedback!
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
